My sister and I, are both feminists (don't hate the word, educate yourself on it, you are most likely a feminist too). We strongly believe in equity, and both agree that the societal pressure on women is a problem. My sister grew up reading books, talking to boys, socializing with friends and when playing with toys, usually micro machines. She sounds cool among other feminists (there are lots of us) when talking about herself as a kid, I on the other hand, loved me some Barbie time (among feminists, this is the equivalent of being the kid that brought the tuna sandwich for lunch in grade school). It's a shame that I now loathe and despise most things about this doll (despite having the occasional dream where I'm playing with them) but at that time, it was all Barbie.
I liked to play with Barbies, and I liked to do it alone for the most part. I even had my own little room under the stairs in the basement where all the dolls lived, stacked with Ken's, clothes, and a wooden house. I felt so special to have one and a quarter rooms, even if I did encounter the odd crawler (I have since connected the dots in my later years, and realize it was really smart planning on my parents part to have basically and under the stairs cell for their loony child).
One year for my Birthday I got the ultimate gift, the Barbie Ferrari. It was white with pink decals, silver rim black tires, and a convertible that made putting Ken and Barbie in and out easy. I am proud to proclaim that Barbie always drove, and drove well. It was a great gift, that I wanted so badly to share with my sister.
I begged her to play with me, just one time, so we could drive the car back and forth between us (work with me here, I was a kid). I didn’t give up, and eventually she gave into the nagging. She agreed, and after a very short lived play, suggested something brilliant. She told me to go to the bottom of the stairs so the new ride could take a trip. There are several stairs leading to the top floor when you walk into my parents house, that come perfectly straight down with no curve in sight. I was too excited for words and almost bailed racing down to make this happen. I stood there ready, and looked up at my sister, holding on to the white vehicle. Behind her the light coming in from the upstairs window was catching the dust particles and making the moment dream like.
“Ready?” she yelled.
“Ready!” I called back.
She let the car go, and amazingly, it drove straight down the first two steps. That was also about the length of the car. As it hit the third step, something terrible happened. The car bounced. It bounced off the stairs aggressively, then took flight.
My parents are athletes, did I mention that? Cat like reflexes the both of them. The genetics must skip a generation there, and my sister and I, well, not so much (we did try though, we really did).
As the Barbie Ferrari, equipped with two passengers, came soaring at me, I stood frozen, unable to move. I can still picture it, mid air, slow motion almost, the light illuminating the glory of the brand new white car; Barbie with her long blond locks blowing in the breeze was glorious (if Barbie was not plastic with a smile painted on her, I assume she would have been screaming, so would Ken) It was a vision alright, and it was coming right for me (picture if you can, the slow motion car scene in Ferris Buellers Day Off, something like that).
The light slowly dimmed out, and the next thing I knew, I had gone from fun play time, to being involved with a one vehicle (and one centre of forehead) collision. The Ferrari had picked up some serious speed, and smashed right into my head. You ever headbutted a toy car? Don't. Not much worse then getting smacked in the face by one (in-front of a sister with a great memory). From what I recall, there was a backwards indent of Ferrari on my forehead, which indicates the magnitude of the situation.
Through insane laughter I could hear her yelling down to see if I was OK. This is sadly, not the only time an unfortunate event has occurred at her doing, aka, “Hey, let's take your mattress, and ride it down the stairs,” or “hey, lets take these crutches and hop over the hedge”. To both may I add, I had to put the mattress back on my bed alone (limping most likely), and there is a permanent hole in my parents hedge.
When two insane people procreate, it only makes sense that their offspring, would inherit some (not nearly as much) insanity. We are smart, I swear. Did my sister plan the attack of the car? I don't know. She is either so smart that she knew she could end the torment of playing with her baby sister by pulling such a stunt, or, she is so smart, that like my mother, sometimes there is no room for the small stuff.
In fact, I spoke with her on the subject of why our family tends to be intelligent yet do, well really dumb shit. She agreed there is limited space, and informed me that last week she shit out grade ten math. I reminded her to hang on to the knowledge of how to put her pants on, but the math, she can do without.
My sister is now a Doctor, that's right, a Doctor. Although, if you ask the general population they assume that means she works in a hospital with patients or at a clinic. Negative, she is a Doctor of Philosophy. That means she works harder, went to school longer, and still gets people saying, “oh, so you're not a real doctor.” (It's funny when I do it).
She has her PhD, and it makes me incredibly proud. I still look up to my sister (despite her being much, much shorter that I am), the same way I looked up to her as a child. The difference being, back then I was standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the Ferrari, now, it's metaphorical. I do however, get the same goofy look on my face when she continues to wow me. Did I mention she is shorter?
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